


Warrior's Tears

by AngeliqueDay2001



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ (Band) - Freeform, AU, F/M, Fantasy, Medieval, Slow Burn, kpop, yn - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeliqueDay2001/pseuds/AngeliqueDay2001
Summary: Your life is turned upside down when your father announces your betrothal. You take matters into your own hands and escape, sending you down an adventurous path fraught with danger, betrayal, and even unexpected love.**THIS IS AN AU PLEASE DON'T BE TAKING IT SERIOUSLY**
Kudos: 4





	1. Once Upon A Time

The sun is shining through the windows and onto your face, waking you from sleep. There’s a maid moving around your chambers, quietly filling the marble bath with steamy water and another pouring cool water into a wash basin for your face. You sit up slowly, stretching and breathing deeply of the crisp morning air breezing through the open window. 

“You’re awake Miss,” one of the maids’ notices, “There’s fresh water in the tub for you, and a hot breakfast on its way.”

“Thank you, Abigail. You can go,” you say with a smile. 

The door clicks shut, and you pull yourself up from the massive bed. You pull the soft cotton nightdress over you head and let it slump to the floor. Steam leaks from the bathing chamber as you open the door and pad over to the tub. Testing the water with your foot, you find the water to be the perfect temperature and you let the water envelope you.   
The songs of morning birds fill the air as you let the hot water soak into your bones. You would be content to stay here all day, but the reminder of breakfast is enough to pull you from the water and wrap yourself in a soft robe. You walk to the dressing room in your chambers and sit down as Abigail brushes out your hair and another maid picks your clothes for the day.

“Your father has something important he wanted to tell you before breakfast, I believe he’s on his way now,” Abigail says as she pulls the strings on your corset tight. You have to brace your hands on the dresser in front of you so as not to be toppled as she pulls tight again. 

“Abigail,” you gasp, breathless, “Must the corset be so tight?” 

“Small waists are in fashion, m’lady, and it’s not like you’re doing anything physically exhausting anyway.”   
You frown slightly as she ties the overdress into place. 

“There’s a shawl on your bed if you decide to go outside,” Abigail says. 

There’s a sharp knock at the door and Abigail opens it. Your father and mother are standing in the doorway. Whatever it is he wanted to tell you must be important if they both decided to show up. Abigail and the other maid leave without a word and your parents sit in the armchairs in front of the fireplace. 

“You look as lovely as ever, Y/N,” your mother says quietly. You give her a restrained smile and look to your father.

“May I ask what this is about, father?” 

He shifts in his seat and watches the flames dance in the fireplace for a moment. 

“I’ve come to inform you of your betrothal,” he says bluntly. 

It takes a few seconds for the words to register. 

“To whom?” You ask, your voice far from demure and subservient. 

“That does not matter, what matters is that he is powerful and can save us from our debt.” 

Our debt. As if you had anything to do with his poor financial decisions. You take in a shaky breath. 

“When have you set the wedding for?” 

“One week from today. Your fiancé wants to be married as quickly as possible.” 

One week. It was too soon. Your vision begins to blur as tears well up in your eyes. The stupid corset stops you from being able to get a proper breath in. You walk over to the basin by the window and pat a little of the cold water onto your face. 

“I know it’s a lot dear, but your father and I were married in a similar way. It’s not so uncommon, for us of royalty,” your mother gently tries to console. You ignore her efforts. 

“I’m going for a stroll,” you say to no one, grabbing the shawl from off your bed and striding out the door, leaving your parents to themselves. 

The grounds of your father’s estate are vast, including several hunting parks, two rose gardens and countless manicured lawns for lounging or slow walks in. You go straight to one of the rose gardens, one of the most beautiful places and a perfect refuge. Your father won’t follow you here; he’s allergic to anything that blooms.   
It also means that you’re alone with your racing thoughts. Marriage is something you knew would come along eventually, but this was too soon. You begin to pace as your thoughts crash into like waves against the shore. 

“Miss, what’re you doing here?” A craggy voice calls out.   
You turn in surprise to see one of the ancient grounds’ keepers. He’s bent over slightly and his white hair bursts out from under his hat. 

“Just… Thinking,” you say with a smile, “I’ll get out of your way.”

“Oh no, please stay. No one here appreciates the roses like you do, m’lady.” 

He ambles away, no doubt to pull some weeds or trim a bush. You sigh, the sound filling the air. After another few minutes you make your way back insider the manor and head towards the library. Sitting in the cosy interior of the library, wrapped up in a book always puts your mind at ease. You push the heavy door open and step inside. The musty, old smell of books hangs heavy in the air but it’s not an unpleasant smell. 

The librarian isn’t at the desk by the door; he must be off cataloguing some ancient tome, so you guide yourself through the tower stacks and shelves. Your father’s library is famous for how large the collection of books is, second only to the royal family themselves. You wander on, looking briefly at the faded titles and gently running your hand along their spines, feeling the rough texture of the leather beneath your fingers. 

You come to an area tucked away from the main walkways where there is little illumination. The books along here seem to be much older than anything in the rest of the library. You stop and dust off one of the books and a small jolt runs through you as you realise it’s a book about magic. If your father knew about this he might very well burn the whole library down. 

You move on but curiosity is nagging at you. You can’t help it as your feet carry you back to where the book is sitting, as your hands pick it up. You duck through the shelves until you come to a reading nook none of the librarians bother to maintain. You light the candle that is siting on the desk and open the book to it’s first page. 

The book talks in monotonous length about how humans were first given the gift of magic from the non-humans. You skip to the middle of the book, dangerously intrigued. The book describes a method in which humans can Awaken their gifts, something that has been outlawed for generations. You know that if anyone found out you were reading this, you would be sent on a one way trip to the gallows. You get up from your seat and snuff out the candle. Leaving the book far behind, you make your way out of the library, being careful to avoid the librarian, in case he begins asking difficult questions. 

You make your way to the kitchens to get some food, and on the way, an idea begins forming, like a small pebble was dropped into a pond, spreading ripples to the other edge. The kitchen is smoky and hot, with people rushing here and there and food cooking, wafting delicious smells all throughout. One of the scullery maids notices you and almost drops the pot of hot water she’s carrying.

“M’lady,” she gasps, “we weren’t expecting you. Can I get you something?” 

“No, I’ll serve myself, if you don’t mind,” you say with a small smile. 

The scullery maid nods, faint confusion on her face but she rushes on when someone yells her names over the cacophony. For the most part, people are too busy to really notice you, so you move around them, grabbing small bits of food here and there. You reach what seems to be a cellar and you slip inside. All sorts of produce are stacked from floor to ceiling, cheeses, cakes, pastries and bread.

You grab one of the woven carry bags that sits by the door and swiftly fill it with a few pieces of cheese and a couple small loves of bread. No one disturbs you and you’re in and out within a minute. You grab two apples on your way out of the kitchens, nodding to a young man carrying a headless chicken. His bewildered look makes you giggle a little. The walk back to your chambers is uneventful; no one crosses your path. You stash the bag of supplies under your bed and are just standing up as Abigail ambles into the room. 

“M’lady, how was your walk?” She asks. 

“Refreshing, thank you.”

“You missed lunch, but I can have someone bring up some tea, if you’d like,” Abigail says as she absently straightens imaginary wrinkles in the bed covers.

“Yes, please,” you smile, “there’s one other thing I was wondering about.”

“Ask away, m’lady,” Abigail says, ready to serve. You wince a little at her eagerness. 

“Would you lend me a set of your clothes? I need them so I can play a small prank on a friend,” you give her a bashful smile.   
Abigail looks shocked, to say the least. 

“You don’t have any friends, m’lady.”

“Please Abigail, I’ll return them promptly, I promise,” you’re on the verge of begging at this point but Abigail seems to be considering. 

“Alright miss, but I don’t like to think of what your father would do if he found out you were traipsing about in servants’ garb,” she says, her tone cautioning. 

“If he finds out I’ll just tell him I stole them, I won’t tell them I got them from you.”

“I’ll bring you a set when I come with your tea tray,” she still seems reluctant but at least you got what you wanted. 

Your plan, your idea that you’ve been working on, would have fallen apart if you couldn’t get those clothes from Abigail. Your father’s voice echo’s in your ear. “One week. Betrothal.”

There’s no way you’re going to marry any man your parents pick out for you. No way in seven hells are you going to marry that man, and the only way to get out of it is to run away. And you’re going to. Tonight. 

[A/N]  
I know it’s a slow start but we’re getting there. This is the first Y/N fic I’ve written so I hope it makes sense. If something is unclear, let me know 😊


	2. Moonlight

You’ve been laying awake on your bed for a few hours now and the moon has risen high in the sky. The household has gone to sleep, and the grounds are silent. You stand from the bed and pull the petticoat and dress on over your nightclothes. You’re kneeling to fish under the bed for the sack of supplies when your hand bumps into something leathery and solid. You pull the object out to get a good look at it. A gasp sounds from your mouth as you realise it’s the book from the library. How did it get here? You certainly didn’t bring it with you. You pull the sack of supplies from under the bed, but you stay on the cold floor, considering. 

No.

There’s absolutely no way you can take the book with you. If someone found out you were in possession of a book of magic you’d be arrested immediately. You pull Abigail’s woollen shawl around you and tuck the bag of supplies under your arm and out of sight. The hallway outside your room is dark but you can’t risk a candle; you’ll have to navigate by memory. There’s a servant’s passage close by to your room and you slowly make your way towards it. 

You keep one hand on the wall to your left, running it along the cool surface in order to not loose your bearings. After a few moments, your foot hits the edge of step leading up to the higher levels of the manor. The idea of navigating stairs in the dark gives you pause for a moment, but you slowly continue. Only a little further and you can light the candle griped in your clenched fist. You make it to the top of the stairs and let out a short sigh of relief. 

You light the candle and move swiftly along the passageway. So far, you’ve not been found out by any snooping servants but you’ve no doubt such an escape would be easy to pull off. If you can just make it outside you can easily disappear into the vast land surrounding the estate. You haven’t really decided what you’re going to do once you get out, but how hard could this living away from home really be? There’s a window ahead, closed tightly against the night air. You quietly unlatch it and push it open. There is a thick ivy trellis climbing its way up the side of the house. 

Mustering your courage, you swing yourself over the windowsill, resting your feet of the trellis and your hands on the sill. Now comes the hard part. You’ve got to get down from here in order to get away. The moonlight is bright tonight, illuminating everything. If one of the few guards your father employs happens to look up, he’d see you clear as day and raise an alarm. 

Biting your lip to keep from crying out you close your eyes and agonisingly slowly begin to make your decent. A few minutes of this pass and you’re nearly to the ground, relief sweeping in. You go to put your foot onto part of the wooden trellis that completely collapses underneath your weight. The wood was rotted and for a split second you’re falling weightlessly through the air. You hit the ground with a muted thud as all the air whooshes from your lungs.

The sound of the trellis collapsing was almost deafening; there’s no doubt someone will come to investigate soon so you pull yourself up of the ground with a groan. They sky isn’t as black as it was when you set out; dawn won’t be far away and in a few hours the whole estate will be aware of your little disappearing act. You decide to head towards the thick forest on the very borders of your father’s lands. 

It takes you half an hour to make it to the edge of the forest which is marked by an old wire fence that none of the grounds keepers bothers to maintain. You slip between the wires and safely onto the other side. 

*** 

You’ve been walking for two hours straight. The trees go on forever and you’re beginning to wonder if this was a bad idea after all. Dawn is about an hour away and you’re still to close to the estate to be safe yet. The ground is uneven, roots stick up ready to trip you and wherever you set your foot down a rock is waiting. You’ve tripped several times and the dress you’re wearing is covered in dirt and stains. The grey of morning is a welcome reprieve from the oppressive darkness. The moon, while bright, was unable to fully light your way through the dense forest. 

A sound breaks through the early morning stillness. A dog’s howl. Several of them, in fact. Your family have caught on to you sooner than you had hoped. Your heart stops dead in your chest as the reality of the situation finally hits. If you get caught, there’s no way you’ll have a second chance at getting away.

You set off at a run, adrenaline pumping through your body, making you faster and nimbler. There are yells of men and the bark of dogs behind you, too close behind you. A panicked sob breaks from your throat as you run, your heart racing, and it soon becomes clear that there is no way you’re going to outrun the dogs, or the men sent to find you. You’ll have to hide. The dogs will find you quickly if you hide in a tree stump; the only place you might have a chance of eluding them is the top branches of a tree. 

You glance around for any low hanging branches, your eyes snagging on a tree a few meters to the left. With a running jump, you latch onto the tree branch as the air is forced from your lungs by the impact. You barely take a moment to catch your breath before you begin climbing higher. The tree is old, and its branches are thick and easy to scale. You climb almost to the top where the branches begin to become thinner. The branch you settle on is narrow but strong enough to support you and your high enough that the dogs won’t scent you. 

You can see what’s going on down on the forest floor. A few minutes pass before the first search party walks past your hiding place. One of the men pauses right under your tree but he doesn’t look up. You breathe a sigh of relief as he moves on. For the next 30 minutes or so search parties move loudly through the forest. The golden light of the sun is shining through the leaves by the time they all move onto other areas of land surrounding the estate. 

You take a deep breath and try to calm your frayed nerves. You hold your hands out in front of you and note they’re shaking violently. Now is a good time for one of those apples and maybe a piece of cheese. You shift on the branch and out the sack of supplies. You’re just biting into an apple when you pause. The air of the forest has shifted, and everything seems to have gone silent, even the soft breeze. 

This is different from when the search parties where traipsing around loudly. This silence is heavy, as though watching, waiting for something to happen. Fear settles in your stomach, weighting you to the branch. There’s something here more dangerous than the searchers. 

“Are you who’s responsible for all those brutes stomping through my forest?” A silken voice whispers in your ear. 

You look up slowly and come face to face with – a man, hanging upside from the branch above you as if he was a bat. 

“Who are you?” You manage to gasp out. 

In a single fluid movement, he rotates and gracefully drops onto the branch you’re sitting on. He tilts his head in minor amusement. 

“Weren’t you ever taught that answering a question with another question is rude?”

You just stare at him, a little wide eyed. He huffs a little. 

“I’m called Hongjoong.”

“I guess you could say I am responsible for those… Brutes,” you reply quietly. 

You take in Hongjoong’s clothing. He’s wearing leather armour of some kind, accented with wafts of green cloth. He has a bow and quiver strapped across his back and a dagger secured at his waist. 

“Why did you call this your forest?” You ask.

He considers for a moment, tilting his head to the side slightly. 

“Because it is,” he replies with a small smile, “What do they call you?” 

“Lady Angel of Chauvenet,” you say, hoping the tile will intimidate him. 

Hongjoong’s smile simply widens. 

“You know, I think those brutes will be back soon, and you probably won’t escape them for a second time. Especially since it’s daytime now,” he muses, mischief glinting in his eyes. You scowl a little. 

“I could help you stay out of their way, if you want.”

Your scowl deepens. His smile becomes fiendish. 

“And what, exactly, do you want in return?” You demand. 

“I have a bit of a bone to pick with your father. Consider it my round-about way of getting at him,” Hongjoong replies. 

“How do you know my father?” You blink in surprise. 

“I can’t tell you all my secrets yet, now can I?” 

You’re about to comment on him answering your question with a question when he just drops off the branch, falling swiftly to the forest floor. You watch in horror, but he lands gracefully on his feet. He looks up at you and smiles lightly. 

“You coming Princess?”


	3. Greener On The Other Side

Hongjoong leads you along an overgrown path. There are no rocks or tree roots to trip you here. 

“Where are we going?” You ask cautiously. You still don’t know or trust this guy; he could be taking you anywhere.

“To meet up with some of my… Friends,” Hongjoong replies without turning. 

You continue walking in silence for another hour before coming up a stream. On the other side there’s a little more of the grassy path before it’s bisected by a dusty road. 

“The water isn’t deep, neither is the current fast. I’ll follow right behind you,” Hongjoong finally says, turning to you. 

You scowl. 

“I’m not going to walk through the water,” you say indignantly. 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. 

“Just pull your socks and shoes off if you can’t bear to get them wet.”

Heat crawls up you neck and onto your cheeks. Typical of a rogue to say something so indiscrete. He notices your discomfort and sighs in frustration. 

“Would me turning around make you do it?” He grumbles.

With his back facing you, you drop down and begin wrestling with the clasps on Abigail’s borrowed shoes. It takes a little longer than you expected but you manage to pull them off your feet. You clear your throat delicately and Hongjoong turns to face you. 

“Took your time, Princess,” he smirks. 

“Don’t call me that,” you say without thinking. 

He smiles wider. Your scowl deepens but without a word you start walking towards the stream. You test the water with a foot. It’s freezing, as if it’s just run down from a snowy mountain peak. There are a few convenient rocks pocking up from the water; if you hop from one to the other you should be able to make it to the other side without walking through too much water. 

You’re about to take a step when Hongjoong just – pushes you. He doesn’t shove you, just a light push on your shoulders but it’s enough to send you off balance and lurching forward. You land face first in the freezing water. By the grace of the gods, you’ve missed the rocks, but all your clothes are soaked. You stand up, water glittering like diamonds on your skin and falling off your clothes. 

You whirl on Hongjoong, face twisted in rage but he’s laying on the grass howling with laughter. 

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” you snap. 

He looks at you, tears glistening in his eyes and his smile dangerously contagious. 

“You were taking so long; I was only helping. And you’ve been to uptight since we set out I thought a little swim might break the ice,” he laughs. 

You just stare at him, trying not to let your mouth hang open. Hongjoong’s attention shifts over your shoulder. You turn to see what he’s looking at an see two male figures standing on the opposite bank. Hongjoong stands and waves to the strangers. 

“Mingi, San! The lady needs your help, I think,” he calls out. 

The men walk closer, grins on their faces.

“Didn’t know you were bringing such prestigious company, or we might have brought more of a fan-fare,” the blond one said. 

The tall one stepped into the water and extended his hand.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall into the water again,” his voice was soft and deep, sending shivers down your spine. 

You begin stepping from one rock to the next. 

“How much of that did you see?” You wince. 

“We’ve been watching since you got to the edge of the forest,” the blond-haired man called out. 

You make it to the other side without falling in again. 

“I’m San,” the blond says, bowing dramatically at the waist. You notice the tips of his ears are – pointed delicately. 

“You’re not human,” you say, unable to hide your surprise. 

San’s grin fades a little. 

“Silver elf. But I guess that doesn’t mean much to you.”

Indeed, in the sun his skin seemed to glow faintly silver and his eyes looked as though they were molten ore, glowing with a light of their own. 

“What’s your name, anyway? Hongjoong said you were a lady..?” 

“Lady Angel of Chauvenet, actually.” The title was starting to sound cheap, “You must be Mingi, then,” you say to the other bandit. 

“At your service, m’lady,” he says, tilting his head in a somewhat mocking gesture of deference. 

“Just Angel, please. I’ve left all that behind. For good,” you say with finality. 

“Shall we be on our way? I’m sure you’re going to want clean, dry clothes as soon as possible,” Hongjoong says beside you. 

San shifts slightly. 

"Is that a good idea? I mean, no offence but she is Lord Chauvenet’s daughter,” he says to Hongjoong. 

“You heard her, she said she’d left that life behind. I really don’t think she’s eager to go running back to her father anytime soon.” 

San sighs through his nose, but he doesn’t seem inclined to push the issue. Hongjoong and San take the lead, stepping out onto the dirt road and talking with each other. You fall back and walk with Mingi.

“So, uh… where are we going, exactly?” You ask.

“To our base camp, where you can meet the rest of the crew. From there it’s up to Hongjoong,” he says lightly. 

“Your crew? Are you a cabal of thieves or something?” 

“Depends on your definition of thief.” 

“What’s yours?” 

“Take from the rich, give to the poor? I suppose since you fall into the rich category you’d define that as thievery,” Mingi says, smiling.

“How many people are in your bandit gang, then?” you ask. 

“Seven, if you count all of us,” San says, dropping back, “We’re almost there so Hongjoong’s gone ahead to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Anything I should know before making introductions?” you mumble. 

Mingi huffs a laugh. 

“Nothing to get anxious over, m’lady,” San smirks. 

“Cut it out,” you hiss. 

You all cut off the path and begin walking through the unbroken undergrowth. You’re about to start complaining when Mingi and San stop. 

“We’ll wait here for Hongjoong,” San says.

“Precautions,” Mingi explains at the blank expression on your face. 

You all barely sit down before Hongjoong is back and giving the all clear. It’s not long before you come upon a campsite with permanent shelters built up around the area. 

“Welcome to our home,” San smirks.  
***  
Four other men are sitting around a large fire. They looked relieved to see their friends, but they eye you warily. You can hardly blame them for being suspicious of you. You can’t say you trust them entirely either. 

“This is Wooyoung, Yunho, Jongho and Yeosang,” Hongjoong says. 

They all nod to you as Hongjoong points each one out for you. One thing this bandit crew has in common, they’re all unnaturally good looking for criminals. 

“Angel, nice to meet you,” you say, automatically dropping into a curtsy.

The men burst out in laughter. 

“A court trained lady through and through,” Wooyoung cackles. 

“You needn’t bother with fancy moves here, Angel. There’s no one to impress,” Yunho says with a smile. 

Your stomach gives a loud growl of hunger, making a couple of the guys snicker. You throw them a withering glare and they shut up. Mostly. 

“If you’re hungry, there’s some fresh cooked meat over there,” Yeosang says, motioning with pointed finger, “Help yourself to as much as you want; these pigs certainly don’t need anymore.” 

“Says you, I saw you take a third helping,” Jongho mutters, earning a jab in the ribs from Yeosang.

You laugh a little and nod in thanks. You bite into a piece of meat that’s loaded onto your plate and it takes all your self-control not to begin shovelling it into your mouth. The meat it tender and the spices are tantalising. 

“Who cooked this?” You ask. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Yeosang says, “If any of these guys tried to cook something, they’d burn the whole forest down and us with it.”

“You only learned how to cook because it impressed that peasant girl back home,” Wooyoung says and he sits next to you. 

“So, why would the daughter of a wealthy Lord run away from home?” He asks. 

“My father wanted me to marry someone. I didn’t like the idea, so I decided to leave. Nothing remarkably interesting,” you say, “How did a forest sprite become part of a bandit crew?” 

“How did you..?” Wooyoung asks in surprise. 

The others are also regarding you with varying degrees of shock. 

“I’ve always been interested in, you know… Magic,” you say in a whisper, as if the trees had ears, “my father has an extensive library; that’s where I learned most of what I know.”

“Sure, but it’s not like many people can tell a sprite, even if they’d read all the books on the planet about them,” San says.

“You’d be surprised at the things someone who’s locked in the same house their whole life can find to keep themselves entertained,” you say mischievously. 

**[A/N]**   
**I suggest using the InteractiveFics Chrome extension if you have Chrome, it changes Angel to your actual name and it makes fics more immersive :)**


	4. Dragon's Teeth

“Here are some clothes you can borrow,” Mingi says, “You can get changed over there,” he says, pointing to one of the huts on the outskirts of the camp.   
You collect up the pile of clothes he gave you and make you towards the hut. It’s not a mud hut, but it’s not far off with the floor being made of dirt and the walls made of heavy logs. 

The inside has no windows, no doubt to keep the cold wind out and the furniture is sparse. There is a straw mattress against one wall and an open fireplace in the middle of the room with a lit lantern hanging from one of the rafters. You throw the clothes onto the bed and being peeling the sodden dress off. You slip the soft shirt on along with a pair of brown pants and a belt. The clothes are a little too big, but they’re dry and comfortable. 

Mingi didn’t give you any new shoes so you put the ones you borrowed from Abigail back on despite them being caked in mud. You step out of the hut, shading your eyes from the afternoon sun. Mingi is waiting outside. 

“I realised I didn’t give you shoes. You can have these boots,” he says. 

“Where did you even get these clothes?” You ask while sliding your feet into the black boots. There’s little chance the clothes belong to any of the other men; they’re too small to fit. 

“Raids and what not,” he replies. You scowl a little.

“Are you saying-”

“We just stole the clothes, among other things. No killing involved,” Mingi says with a small laugh, “Anyway, since you’ve changed, come with me to get more firewood.”   
You follow him past the camp perimeter and into the thicker part of the forest. 

“So why did you join a bandit gang, if you don’t mind my asking,” you ask to fill the silence. 

“No, it’s okay. I used to live in a small village, far from here. You’ll find most of the others lived in virtual poverty before banding together,” he pauses for a moment to grab pieces of wood. You stay silent, waiting.

“Our village was ruled by a Baron who liked to let his men go on the prowl every now and then. They’d kill people for fun and the Baron wouldn’t do a thing about it,” Mingi stops to collect more wood.

“One day, I was so sick of cowering every time Baron’s men came through that I got some guys together and the next time it happened, we jumped them. It was a slaughter. The Baron was stricter on his guys from then on, but the villagers run us out of town, said we were too dangerous. We’d saved them, but they saw us as another threat.”

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. 

“I’m not broken up over it if that’s what you’re thinking. I didn’t have anyone left in the village anyway,” Mingi says, his dark eyes glittering in the evening sun. Your heart skips a tiny beat as he looks at you. 

“You’ve hardly collected any wood. What we got won’t last us the night,” he says wryly. A soft blush creeps onto your face and you glance away.

“I’m not done yet,” you mumble. 

“What do you plan to do now?” he asks you. 

“Honestly? I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I don’t really have anywhere to go,” you say after considering for a moment. 

“You can stay with us as long as you need, you know that, right?” 

“I certainly won’t last long on my own, that’s for sure.”

“You’ll have to pull your weight; I’m sure there’s something within your abilities that we can find for you to do,” Mingi says with a smile, “I think we’ve got enough wood. If we run out, I’ll make Jongho get more.” 

You both head back to camp. The sun is setting, bathing the forest in deep shadows making it difficult to see very much. 

“Maybe someone can teach me how to fight or something-” you begin to say but something flies past your ear and hits the tree in front of you with a thud. You drop the wood you were carrying and duck down. 

“What the hell?” you gasp, looking at the tree. A well crafted arrow is poking out of the trunk. 

“Mingi!” 

“I’m here,” his deep voice rumbles next to you. You let out a sharp sigh of relief. 

“Who the hell is shooting at us?” 

“Brigands, hunters, a rival gang, take your pick. We need to get back to camp. Follow me and try not to make any noise,” he says.   
Something about his tone prompts you not to ask anymore questions. A few minutes later and you can see the light of the campsite through the trees. 

“I’m going to talk to Hongjoong. Go sit by the fire and don’t move. I’ll be there in a moment,” Mingi says, not waiting for a response. 

You follow his instructions silently, making your way to the fire. You watch the others as they strap weapons to their bodies, sharp hunting knives, bow and quivers. Their faces are set with determination. San ties his silver hair into a braid, and light flickers between Wooyoung’s fingertips.

Magic. 

“Jongho, stay here with y/n, everyone else spread out. Let’s hunt these bastards down,” Hongjoong says, his voice cold. 

Mingi comes over to you, a silver dagger in his hand. 

“Hopefully, you won’t need this, but it’s better to be prepared,” he says, handing it to you. You stare at it, making no move to take it from his grasp. 

“Take it, y/n. If someone comes for you, remember the three C’s. Centre mass, crotch, cranium. And use all the strength in your shoulder, not your arm. It’s a shame there’s not more time to prepare you but if all goes well, it won’t matter.” 

You take the dagger in your hand, the grip comfortable. Mingi is gone before you can say thank you. 

“Don’t be too worried about them. This is just another day on the job,” Jongho says, sitting next to you. 

“Will they kill them?” you ask quietly. 

“Maybe, if it’s necessary.” 

“You all must think I’m pathetic and ungrateful, not knowing how to look after myself, having lived in the lap of luxury only to throw it away when I don’t get my own way,” you say, glancing at him. 

“None of us think that way. No one can help the circumstance they’re born into, but it’s up to you to make a better life for yourself. A life where you’re in charge and no one else makes decisions for you,” he says, “After this fiasco, you can bet Hongjoong’s going to insist you learn how to defend yourself.” 

“I don’t like feeling… Helpless like this. I’ve had enough of depending on others,” you say bitterly. 

"I hope that doesn’t mean you’re going to ditch. Having people around you to share your burden is a good thing,” Jongho says gently. 

“I guess you’re right.” 

“Our little band of misfits is just that; a bunch of people who don’t really fit anywhere but we’re here together. It’s our own little community and we’d all do anything for each other, you included, if you’re willing to stay.” 

You look at Jongho, the firelight sending flickering shadows over his handsome face. 

“You should try to get some sleep,” he says, handing you a thick blanket, “You can have that hut you got changed in before, no one else is using it.” 

You’re about to protest, insist on staying until everyone returns but Jongho shakes his head. 

“They won’t be back for a few hours and there certainly won’t be any news you’d want to hear. Just try to get some rest,” he says. 

You collect your bag of stale food and head over to the hut. It’s cold inside and away from the fire but you take your shoes off and settle on the mattress. The straw is prickly, but it beats sleeping on the dirt floor. You reach inside the bag to get out a piece of bread but your hand brushes against something leathery and solid.   
It’s the book about magic. You remember very clearly leaving it behind in the manor before escaping. Thoroughly spooked, you put the book back in the sack and pull the blanket over you and shut your eyes, but sleep does not take you until the soft grey light of dawn leaks through the forest. 

*** 

Soft voices chattering pleasantly wake you from sleep. The morning sun is weak, and the air is cold. Someone knocks roughly on the hut door. 

“It’s time to get up, Princess,” Yunho laughs. 

“It’s freezing! And didn’t I tell you guys to not call me that?” you growl. 

The door opens briefly and Yunho throws a cloak that lands squarely on the bed. 

“Come out, get something to eat and sit by the fire. It should warm you up a bit before we begin.”   
You sit up and pull your shoes and the cloak on. It’s made of dark material and is supple but cosy. 

“Begin what, exactly?” you ask, stepping out of the building. 

“Hongjoong will explain,” is all Yunho says as he walks ahead of you. 

“Morning, y/n. Sleep well?” San asks as you approach. 

“I’ve had better nights,” you say carefully as Yeosang hands you a bowl full of hot oatmeal, “How was everything last night, anyway? Who were those people?”

“Just a couple of brigand scouts,” Hongjoong says, a little too quickly.   
None of the men meet your eyes. They’re keeping something from you, but you huff quietly and dig into your oatmeal, not saying anything else about it. 

“Since you plan on hanging with us for a while, I think it’s the perfect reason to being training you,” Hongjoong continues.   
You look up from your food.

“I think it’s a great idea, when do we start?”

“Right away,” Hongjoong says with a disarming smile.


	5. Eyes On The Horizon

_6 Months Later_  
“You’re not in a circus, quit twirling and strike,” Yunho says. 

You slash at the training dummy in front of you, the sword heavy in your hands.

“Arms up, back straight, knees bent. Come on, you know this.” 

Sweat plasters your hair to your face and a sharp pain is beginning in your lower back. 

“Your foot stance is sloppy and you’re leaving your left side exposed when you strike. You need to-”

“I’m done for today,” you say, throwing the sword down in sudden anger. 

Yunho’s stormy expression matches your own. 

“You can’t expect to get better without practice,” he says, picking up the discarded sword. 

“I’m getting firewood,” you say, ignoring him. 

You take a step forward, only to be overcome by a wave of dizziness that makes you stumble and fall to your knees. Yunho drops down beside you, concern in his eyes. Something hot and sticky drips from your nose and lands on the ground, staining the mud red. 

Blood

“Guess you really are done for today,” Yunho says as he helps you to your feet. 

You lean on him as he walks with you back to the camp. Mingi jogs up to you looking worried.

“Is everything okay? You didn’t push her too hard did you, Yunho?” he asks in a rush. 

“I’m not dying, Mingi. Just less fit than I thought,” you say before Yunho can respond, “Let me sit down and I’ll be fine.” 

They guide you over to the seats surrounding the fire like two overbearing mother hens. Mingi gently places a blanket around your shoulders and sits beside you. 

“I’m not an invalid,” you hiss, but you slide a little closer to him. 

San and Wooyoung are sitting on the other side of the fire, watching you intently. 

“What?” you demand. 

“You read that book again, didn’t you?” Wooyoung asks. 

You scowl. About 2 months ago, you’d read through the ritual in the book of magic that detailed how to Awaken human abilities. It had left you weak as a newborn calf and given you the worst headache imaginable. Wooyoung and San had worked out quickly what you’d been up to after that. 

“I might have.”

“You can’t be considering undergoing the ritual? Imagine the consequences if this is how you turn out after just reading about it,” San snaps. 

“And what if I am?,” you say, simply to annoy him. 

“You’re not serious?” Mingi asks beside you. Something in his tone melts the flickering anger and you turn to him. 

“No, but I thought about it. Briefly.” 

Everyone seems to relax slightly at that. Yeosang hands you a cup of something hot. 

“Will you be up for archery in the morning?” he asks. 

“I just need a goodnights’ sleep and I’ll be able to take on the world,” you reply. 

“Eat before you go to bed. The stew’s almost done anyway.” 

You all sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the heat of the fire warming your face. You gently lean you head on Mingi’s shoulder and close your eyes. San’s arm is around Wooyoung’s shoulder and Hongjoong pokes at the fire with a stick. Yunho, Jongho and Yeosang talk quietly with each other, the murmuring of their voices blending with the crackle of the wood. 

You’re filled with a sense of peace. You’d stay in this moment forever if you could. Nothing could ruin this calm serenity. That is, until a sharp whistle breaks through the quite and an arrow shoots through the camp, right into Yunho’s chest. 

Everything feels like it’s in slow motion. You throw off the blanket and pull the silver dagger from your waist. Everyone else has launched into action; San with his throwing knives, Hongjoong with his bow and arrows, Wooyoung with his magic. Everyone else uses swords. There are at least fifteen attackers filling the camp. The next steps you take are like a graceful dance. The brigand rushing for you goes down with a swift stab to the gut as you slide under his sword. 

You look to the left to see San pinned between two brigands, his last knife in his hand. With all the strength in your arm, you throw your silver dagger, aiming for the head of one of the attackers, but the blade pierces his neck. The other brigand falls to the ground with San’s dagger in his eye.  
You’ve never managed to get the hang of throwing knives, but this stunt has left you without a weapon. You try to think what Yunho has taught you about unarmed fighting. 

Yunho

Swiftly jumping over the bodies littering the path, you make your way to where Yunho was hit. He’s laying on the ground, the arrow still protruding hideously from his chest. You fall to your knees beside him, a sob in your throat.  
Blood. So much of it that the ground is soaked black. 

Shit. _Shit._

He’s still breathing, but barely. Your vision is blurry with tears. The sound of fighting has stopped but people are still yelling. Someone hauls you to your feet, their iron grip not budging, even as you thrash against them. You notice Hongjoong beckon Wooyoung over, at the same time realising it’s Mingi holding you. He turns you to face him, pulling you into a tight embrace. 

Tears are falling freely down your face and painful sobs shake your body. You start to shake, the reality of what’s happened settles in you. The two people you killed. The man fighting for life a few metres away. Mingi strokes your hair gently but doesn’t lighten his grip on you, as if to stop your soul from fading away.  
Mingi finally releases you and you look at your hands. They’re covered in blood that’s beginning to dry and flake. Wooyoung is kneeling over Yunho, light flowing from his fingers and into Yunho’s wound, his face twisted in concentration and pain. The magic cuts off suddenly and Wooyoung falls back onto San, exhausted. He shakes his head once and closes his eyes, unconscious. 

You stumble forward to do something, _anything,_ but Mingi grabs your wrist. 

_“We can’t just let him die!”_ you scream. 

You pull your hand from Mingi’s and he doesn’t stop you this time, as if all the strength has been sapped from him. He’s staring blankly at nothing. You lurch towards where Yunho lays. 

“Do something!” you yell, looking at the others hysterically. 

“It’s over, Angel,” Yeosang says, his voice barely audible, “There’s nothing else to be done.” 

It takes a second for his words to sink in. For you to look at Yunho’s body, his chest that’s no longer rising and falling. The devastated faces that surround you. You fall to your knees with a thud, Yunho’s still warm blood soaking your pants. Mingi kneels beside you, sliding his arm around your waist. You bury your face in his shoulder, tears soaking his jacket. 

The others follow suit, kneeling around Yunho’s body. Wooyoung is barely conscious, still needing San to keep him supported. Hongjoong places the blanket you were using mere moments ago over Yunho, covering his death wound. 

Your vision begins to get dark around the edges as exhaustion takes over and unconsciousness sweeps in, dragging you under. 

*** 

You wake up the next day, sun warming the room and reminding you of another time. You remember Mingi carrying you to bed and the events of the previous night come rushing back to memory. You pull yourself out of bed with great effort and chuck on your cloak. 

Everyone was standing around the fire talking quietly as if they didn’t want to wake you. Or just didn’t want you to hear. Hongjoong sees you approaching and says something to the others that makes them turn around. Their eyes are red, swollen from tears and exhaustion. 

“Angel,” Hongjoong says, stepping forward, “The men who attacked us… They wear your father’s livery.” 

You stop in your tracks. 

“They left a calling card on one of the brigands, here,” Yeosang says, handing you a bloody scrap of paper. 

_I can’t stand it when someone takes my things_  
_~ S_

“Who’s ‘S’?” you ask.

“We’d hoped you’d be able to clear that up for us,” Hongjoong says. 

“How did they find us – me?” 

“We’re not sure, but I’m surprised it took them this long. We’re not exactly on the other side of the continent.”  
You tuck the paper into a pocket. Your eyes land on the patch of blood-soaked ground; no body in sight. 

“We’re about to have the funeral,” Mingi says softly. 

You pull the cloak tighter around yourself and nod silently. The others begin to walk off together and Mingi gently slides his hand into yours. The place they chose is beautiful, vines hanging from tree branches, sun light bathing the clearing in buttery light. The grave is easy to notice, the darkness of the freshly turned soil stark against the green grass. 

You can’t imagine the emotional toll of digging your best friend’s grave. 

The funeral is short, to the point. Everyone says something, though it’s often broken by sobs. You can’t remember a time you’d cried more. You don’t think you’ll ever cry this much again. 

Afterwards, you’re sitting around the fire, picking at the food dumped on your plate. The silence is unbearable. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay,” you say to no one in particular. 

“You can’t be serious,” San says, eyes wide. 

“Oh, I’m very serious. Me being here is putting you all in danger. I can’t – I can’t let anyone else die because of me.” 

“Don’t you dare blame yourself. It’s no one’s fault but that bastard that shot him,” Wooyoung hisses. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t change my mind. Not with this,” you say. 

“Fine,” Hongjoong says, “On one condition. Wait a few days. Settle your thoughts and see if you still want to leave. It would be suicide to go out on your own in this state.” 

“I’ll stay two more days, that’s all I can promise.”

Hongjoong just nods tersely and returns to his food.

**[A/N]**  
**I have nothing to say for myself**  
**If this chapter is a bit much for you, I don't think you should keep reading, I won't take it personally ❤**


	8. Lilac and Violets

“You’re not going,” Mingi says. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Y/n, please,” he grabs your arm, his voice wavering, “We can work this out. Together.” 

“And who’s going to die next? Who’s going to get hurt if I decide to stay?” 

“We can prepare better, now that we know your father is sending people after you,” Mingi says, “You won’t last long out there on your own.”

“Stop underestimating me. I can look after myself now and I’m not the same girl I was six months ago,” you snap, “I’m sorry it has to be this way.” 

“It wouldn’t be if you’d let someone in for once,” he hisses, “Stop trying to be a martyr and let us _help.”_

You wrench your wrist from his hand and walk back to your hut. He doesn’t follow, though you catch yourself wishing he would.   
You’d made changes to your living space over the past six months; a wooden floor and proper fireplace were the most functional changes. Clothes and weapons were scattered all over the floor and bed, making it difficult to navigate. You take in the messy but cosy space. There really was no time but the present to clean it up. 

Despite what you promised Hongjoong, you have no intention of staying here for another two days. Anything could happen, and every moment you’re here, they’re in danger. Even if they refuse to see it. You laugh quietly at the bitter irony of the situation. Six months ago, you escaped from your father under the cover of dark and now you’re planning the exact same thing. 

It’s as if history is fated to repeat itself. 

You can’t risk taking any food with you; someone will defiantly notice if any of the produce goes missing. You’ll have to use the money you stashed to buy supplies while on the road. You stuff a pack with an extra change of clothes and as many weapons as you can fit. You tuck the coin pouch carefully into a hidden pocket in your jacket. 

Now all you must do is wait. 

*** 

It’s midnight when you quietly leave your hut, pack hidden under the cloak Yunho gave you. If anyone were to look, they’d think you were going for a walk. You make a wide perimeter around the camp, being sure to stay away from the light of the fire; Yeosang is on watch tonight but you’re not sure where he might be sitting.

You think you’ve made it clear of the you feel someone watching you. 

“Hongjoong thought you might try skipping out sooner than you’d said,” Yeosang says behind you. 

You turn your head to face him. 

“Are you going to drag me back?” 

“No.” 

“Why?” 

“You’re not a prisoner, y/n. You can make your own decisions,” he says simply, “Mingi will be upset you left without saying goodbye.”

Upset is an understatement. After your little spat before, he may very well hate you. 

“I wanted to give you this before you disappeared,” Yeosang says, handing you a tiny bouquet of flowers, “Lilacs and violets supposedly keep travellers safe while on the road.” 

You take them in your hand, examining the petals in the moonlight. 

“I won’t forget what you all did for me. I hope – I hope we can all stay friends, even after this,” you say, tears welling in your eyes. 

“You know where to find us,” Yeosang says, before slipping back into the darkness of the forest, leaving you alone. 

There’s a small town an hour from here and you begin making your way to the main road. Silent tears fall down your face the entire journey and you clutch the flowers tightly in your hand, not letting go for a moment. 

_~1 week later~_

The flowers Yeosang gave you crumbled to dust days ago, but you leave the crumbs of them in the bottom of your pack. You’ve found temporary work at a tavern, serving customers. You don’t plan on staying long, just until you can get your savings up a little. You overheard people talking loudly about some kingdom far away from here who’s monarch is kind and fair to his people. It’s the perfect refuge but you can’t afford the caravan fare. Yet. A few more weeks of serving questionable food and dodging creeps and you can be on your way to freedom. 

“Keres! Get this order over to those customers and stop standing around like an idiot,” someone calls from the kitchen. 

You’ve been using a fake name ever since you left the bandits, mostly to stop a certain someone trying to track you down. You feel guilty for walking out on them without saying goodbye, and you parted ways with Mingi on bad terms which isn’t helping. 

You take the plate of food and drinks over to a table full of rowdy men who won’t stop leering at you. You’re about to turn away when one of them grabs you by the waist and yanks you into his lap. You yelp in surprise and wriggle to get free, but his grip is like iron and he’s grinning at you struggling. 

“Get your hands off me!” you yell in desperation. 

You drive your elbow into his throat and releases you as he goes into a coughing fit. You move quickly through the throng of people crowding the taproom and put as much distance between him and yourself as possible. You’re starting to wonder if the pay for working here was worth it or not. 

You slip into the back room where you’ve been sleeping for a few days and pull out the silver dagger Mingi gave you so long ago. Oh, how far you’ve fallen since those days. Tears sting at your eyes when remembering who you used to be, before Mingi, before shacking up with a bandit gang. You were nobility and you threw it all away in a fit of spoilt rage when you didn’t get what you wanted. You remember your mother, so far away. She probably doesn’t even know if you’re alive or not. 

You put the dagger away, tucking it safely in one of the pockets of your work dress. As you look around the room, your eyes fall on a small pouch tucked behind some produce on a shelf. You grab it, heart racing. It’s full of silver and copper coins. It’s not much but it would be enough for you to purchase a caravan ticket. Without thinking too much, you grab your pack and sling it over your shoulder. 

You stand up, back straight and chin up as you walk out of the tavern and don’t look back. 

***

The caravan is made up of twenty or so families, all refugees. They bring only what they can carry on their backs. You’re all traveling with a group of traders, who are willing to let refugees tag along and take advantage of the protection but only if they pay a sizable fee. You learned a long time ago that money is the only thing that matters to most people. 

You try to limit how many people you interact with on the journey; you don’t want people asking difficult questions. 

“Come on people! Let’s get moving,” one of the caravan drivers yells. 

People groan and mutter; the traders have set a gruelling pace, wanting to get to their destination as soon as possible. But even if you were travelling non-stop it’s going to take another week of walking to make it to the outskirts of the neighbouring country, Aldsea. You were headed for the main city, called Lormont. You’ve heard stories about Aldsea; it’s a port city that brings rich trade from far away places. 

You can only hope you can find your freedom in Lormont. 

**[A/N]**   
**A stupidly short chapter but I had no idea what to write :(**   
**Things are hopefully going to be a bit more interesting from here out but thanks for sticking with the fic**


	10. Game Of Survival

The caravan finally comes to a stop on the outskirts of Lormont. The rolling green hills and fields of wildflowers are enchanting. You take a deep breath of the fragrant air as buttery sunlight warms your back. 

A group of well-dressed men and women escorted by a detail of guards are swiftly approaching the caravan. One of the women beside you said something about them being here to oversee the processing of all the refugees. You watch the officials in slight awe. It’s been sometime since you’ve seen such finery and wealth, but it’s not something you miss. 

“We will be escorting you into the city shortly. All refugees must come with us for processing. From there you will be taken an orientation and we will find accommodation and employment for those who meet our king’s standards,” one of the men says, “Men and boys with me and woman and girls with my colleagues,” he says, gesturing to two finely dressed women. 

People begin to murmur in surprise and discontent at being separated from their families, but it is quickly hushed by stern looks from the heavily armed guards. You adjust the pack on your shoulder and make your way over to the quickly forming group of women and girls. 

“Ladies, please form two lines as we make our way into the processing centre and do not deviate. You may refer to me as officer Quine and my assistant is officer Demeter,” one of the officers says. 

You fall quietly into line, keeping your eyes downcast and not making yourself stand out. The walk into the city is short but silent. Officer Quine and Demeter don’t allow anyone to talk or make noise, saying that Lormont citizen’s found disturbances distasteful.

 _Yeah, it’s defiantly the noise and not the refugees_ you think. 

The officers lead the group of women through a back-gate entrance, possibly made specifically to get refugees into the city without offending the delicate sensitivities of the common folk. 

“Girls under 18, please go with officer Demeter and everyone else follow me,” officer Quine says when you reach a large, unassuming white building with flowers bursting from the planters under the windows. 

You and the other women follow officer Quine into a waiting room.

“Please tell me your name and age and then take a seat,” she says, standing in the doorway. 

You wait in line for a few minutes, none of the women making any attempt at small talk with each other. 

“Name and age.” 

“Keres, 19,” you say quietly, hoping she won’t see through your lie.

But the officer just nods, and you walk quickly into the waiting room, but it becomes apparent quickly that there are no more empty seats left, and the floor space is being quickly occupied. You find a spot in the corner to huddle while you wait. 

It takes the officer half an hour to get through the rest of the woman. At this point there isn’t even a centimetre of free space left in the waiting room, forcing Quine to have the rest of the women moved into the waiting room next door. Why they hadn’t done that sooner you couldn’t guess. 

“We will now begin the interview process. This will determine if you’re fit to become a citizen of Lormont. Your name will be called when we’re ready for you. It takes time to get to everyone, so your patience is appreciated,” Quine says with a smile plastered on her face. 

She calls the first name. It’s not you, so you stay in your spot, settling in for the long haul. 

*** 

It’s been 4 hours since the first woman was called. There are at least 20 other women still left to be processed, including you. You’ve been sitting in the same seat for over an hour and your legs are stiff. None of you have been offered food or water and it’s getting difficult to hold in your tears of frustration. 

Some time ago one of the women had made a racket when she could no longer stand waiting. Guards had come to investigate, and they took her away, saying they’d take her to talk to someone in charge. You hadn’t seen her since. She probably wasn’t coming back. The atmosphere in the room had changed since then, as if everyone had come to the same hopeless conclusion, that maybe coming here was less glamourous than it had been made out to be. 

“Keres,” Quine calls finally. 

You walk into her office, wincing at the glares stabbing into your back from the women you leave behind in the waiting room. 

“Sit. I have a few questions to ask you. They will determine whether you qualify for a citizenship or not. Answer honestly, please,” Quine says. 

You prickle a little at her tone but sit in the seat opposite her regardless. 

“Do you know how to read and write in any capacity?” 

“Yes, I can read and write perfectly,” you reply. 

Quine gives you a dubious look. 

“Please demonstrate by copying this sentence,” she says while handing you a sheet of paper. 

You comply, writing the sentence in a neat script. Quine frowns and takes the paper, tucking it into a cabinet. 

“What was your previous employment before coming to Lormont?” 

Your heart lurches slightly; you didn’t have a job before now. You’ve never needed one. 

“I – haven’t been previously employed,” you stutter. 

Quine frowns again. Something must be wrong. 

“I’m happy to inform you that you’ve passed the interview. If you go through the door behind me, you can begin the process of being integrated into a new job. Just follow the hallway to the end,” she says suddenly. 

You’re surprised it was that easy, but you don’t stand from your seat. 

“I haven’t eaten in almost 12 hours, when can I get some food? And the other women in the waiting room,” you ask. 

“Please exit through the door behind me,” is all Quine says, as if you didn’t say anything at all. 

She doesn’t even look at you as you get up and leave. The hallway is long and well lit, giving a slight sense of peace and relief as you realise this isn’t as hard as you thought it was. 

“You must be Keres,” a female voice says as you cautiously open the door at the end of the hall, “Have a seat. I’m officer Delicante. Since you can read and write at an advanced level, you qualify for an apprenticeship,” she says. 

“What kind of apprenticeship? You ask carefully. 

Delicante smiles widely, but there’s no emotion in her eyes. 

“Well, there’s two available for a young woman such as yourself. You can learn to be an apothecary by apprenticing with the city’s healers or you can work in the castle kitchens,” Delicante says, her smile never faltering. 

You wince a little. 

“Only those two? I’m a fast learner, surely there’s something else?” 

“None of the other apprenticeship openings are for women, I’m sorry. I’d like to suggest you take the kitchen job. It’s loud and busy but fantastic experience.”

You consider for a moment but something about Delicante’s enthusiasm makes you pause. 

“I like the sound of the apothecary better, actually,” you reply. 

Delicante’s smile dims slightly but she recovers quickly. 

“I’ll put you down for an interview with Madam Celene tomorrow,” she says, writing furiously into a book, “Now, if you go out that door, a guard will escort you to your living quarters until something more permanent can be worked out. Welcome Lormont, Keres.” 

You grimace a little but nod and leave. As promised, a guard was waiting outside. He says nothing, just looking you up and down once and striding ahead of you. You almost need to jog in order to keep up with his long strides but after a little while he comes to a stop outside a plain-looking door. 

“You are not allowed to leave unless summoned by name. Someone will bring you food shortly,” he says with no emotion. 

Thoroughly disturbed, you nod and walk into the room, only to hear the door slam shut and the click of the lock resounding throughout. 

“Hey!” you yell, “You can’t just lock me in here!” 

There’s no response. You try the handle in vain, but it doesn’t budge. 

“What the hell is going on,” you mutter out loud. 

You look around the room. It’s small and furnished with plain furniture. There’s a small table and chairs in one corner and a small cot in the other. You roll your shoulders and throw your pack onto the bed. Nothing to do now but wait.


	11. City By The Golden Sea

There is a small window high up one of the walls. It’s too high up for you to be able to see out but you can hear the city, moving about unaware of the people in this building. 

You’ve been laying on the bed, sleeping restlessly for two hours. From the angle of the shadows in your room, you think it’s getting close to late afternoon. 

A sharp click sends you leaping from the bed as the door opens and someone finally comes in. It’s officer Quine and Demeter.

“Miss Keres, Madam Celene is anxious to meet you so she’s requested you come for an interview today,” Quine says. 

“If it means I can get out of here I’m happy to oblige,” you say sarcastically. 

“Just follow me please,” Quine says, pursing her lips at your tone. 

You follow the officers as they lead you through the halls, their dress skirts hissing along the floor. You’re still wearing the same homespun skirt you wore while working in the tavern and you can’t remember the last time you were able to bathe more than a swift dip in a cold stream. 

“When will I be given something to eat?” 

“Madam Celene will provide everything you may have need of,” Quine replies. 

“What if I don’t pass the interview?” 

“You will.” 

“How could you possibly know?” you ask dubiously.

“Madam Celene is desperate for an apprentice and you’re the best candidate so far. She may even forgo an interview and take you in on the spot,” Demeter explains quietly. 

The three of you walk in silence the rest of the way. Madam Celene’s shop is tucked away from the main square of Lormont, which Quine is vigilant about keeping you as far from as possible. She still seems antsy about letting you mingle with people. 

The apothecary is cool and musty smelling on the inside. Labelled jars full of ingredients line the shelves behind the counter and herbs hang drying from the rafters, filling the space with rich and interesting scents. Celene comes to the front of the shop, no doubt returning from the house attached to the back of the shop. Celene is… beautiful. Tall and slim, her wild blonde curls pulled back from her slender face by a strip of leather. Her almond-shaped eyes are a piercing green and there’s no real way to gauge how old she is; she has a timelessness about her that intrigues you.

“Is this the girl?” she asks Quine. 

Quine merely nods once, barely a dip of her chin. It’s clear the officer isn’t particularly fond of the healer. 

“Leave her with me. You’re free for a few hours,” Celene says, her tone sharp. 

Quine looks like she’s about to protest but a glare from Celene has her huffing and turning on her heel, Demeter close behind. Celene’s attention turns to you, her eyes flickering as she looks you over. You feel stripped bare by her gaze, as if she might know all your secrets simply by looking at you. Her eyes narrow slightly as they return to your face. 

“Follow me.” 

You obey. There’s something about Celene that makes her a woman not to be trifled with and you really don’t want to get off on the wrong foot. She leads you into the back of the shop where more ingredients and herbs are stored. 

“So, what’s your name, girl?” she asks, standing in the middle of the room.

“Keres,” you reply quietly. 

“Your real name,” she hisses. 

Your mouth pops open in surprise. 

“How did you-?” 

“Answer the question.” 

“It’s y/n,” you reply stiffly, “I guess you’d already know why I’m using a fake name.”

“Of course. You’re running from your future your father has planned for you,” Celene says, a little smugly. 

“I’ve been pretty successful so far.” 

“Perhaps. But it has come at great cost, and you have not yet paid in full,” Celene says with a cryptic smile, “Anyway, I’m aware you know nothing of healing or naturopathy but in time you can learn.” 

“You mean you’re still interested in taking me in as your apprentice? You’re not going to tell officer Quine my name isn’t really Keres?” 

“Your secret’s safe with me. But don’t think that means I’m going to go easy on you because of your rough start,” Celene replies. 

“I’m certain I can handle whatever you throw at me,” you say confidently. 

“When Quine and Demeter return, I’ll tell them I want you to move in this evening, they’ll have your belongings sent over some point tomorrow.”

“When can I start learning?” you ask. 

“You can begin by reading this book and taking notes,” Celene says, handing you a brick of a tome titled “Plants and Herbs and their Common Uses in Healing”, a stack of paper and a quill. 

“You can study here, there’s a table and any customers that come in won’t see you,” she continues, and strides back to the front of the shop. 

You sigh, taking a seat at the table and thumping the tome down. You grit your teeth and open the first page of the tome. 

*** 

_~2 Months Later~_

“Have you finished cataloguing the sweet moss and ashroot, y/n?” Celene calls from the kitchen. 

“Yes! I’m about to start on the willow decoction you asked for,” you reply. 

Celene appears a moment later in the doorway of the cramped storage closet you’ve been sitting in for the past hour. 

“I can finish it myself; I have a few deliveries I need you to take care of,” she says. 

You slip past Celene and into the large back room of the apothecary. 

“What are the deliveries?” 

“This dicatra brew needs to go to the Magistrate’s office and I need you to pick up a fresh batch of Delila’s homemade spirit. I need it for the base of a pain-killing potion,” Celene says. 

You grab your cloak, the one Yunho gave you, off the back of a chair, and swing it over your shoulders. It’s sunny outside so you likely won’t need it but these days you can’t seem to get out the door without it. 

“Right on it. I’ll see you later Celene,” you say, stepping out the door.

“Pick up something nice for supper on your way back!” Celene yells as you leave. 

You walk easily through the clean streets, making your way to the magistrate’s office which is in one of the trading squares. You pass many people on your way, their finery glittering in the late afternoon sun. There isn’t a spot of trash or mud on the street, the walls of the buildings are spotless with flowers and trees bursting from every patch of dirt. 

The Magistrate’s office is a large, red-painted building that dominates the square. You step through the double doors and into a luxurious waiting room. 

“How can I help you, ma’am?” the receptionist asks. 

“I’m here to drop off a delivery of dicatra brew,” you reply, handing the large bottle to her. 

“Ah, thank you. Madam Celene will have to collect her cheque in person.”

“I’ll let her know. Have a nice day,” you say as you leave.

You being to make your way to Diana’s. She’s the owner of a brothel combined with a tavern on the other side of town. It takes fifteen minutes to cross the wide expanse of Lormont and the sun is beginning to set when you finally step through the doors. The smell of alcohol, sweat and smoke hit you full force. The building is hardly lit and cigarette smoke clouds the room thickly. 

The burly bouncer by the door recognises you and points you to where Diana is supposedly holding court. You find her easily enough; her midnight black hair and ice blue eyes are easy to recognise even from afar. 

“Madam Diana, it’s nice to see you again,” you say by way of greeting. 

She flicks her eyes over to you and gives you a small smile, but it’s not a fond one. 

“Why are you here, y/n? Have you finally accepted my offer?” 

“I thought I made myself clear, I’m happy where I am. I have no intention of becoming one of your girls,” you say in exasperation, “Madam Celene wishes to buy some of your homemade spirit.” 

“You know I don’t sell that to just anyone.” 

“Good thing we’re not just anyone.” 

Diana huffs mirthlessly and leads you towards a backroom. 

“Here’s two bottles. And I’m selling them to you at a discounted price, but you better not expect handouts in the future,” she snaps as she hands the spirits to you. 

“Take it up with madam Celene,” is all you say as you hand Diana a pouch of coins and make for the door. 

The sun has set by the time you get out onto the street. You don’t like travelling at night, but sometimes you have no choice. You tuck the bottles of spirit close to your body and begin making your way back to the apothecary’s shop. You decide not to make any stops along the way; you don’t want to be out here any longer than necessary. 

After a few minutes of walking, you become aware of a presence, following a couple of steps behind you. A couple of presences. Your breath hitches a little as you increase your speed. You might know how to protect yourself, thanks to your friends' training, but it’s been some time since you’ve been able to practice and you’re out of shape. The silver dagger at your waist feels heavy. Even in untrained hands, it could do a lot of damage. You hope the men following you are too drunk to overpower you.   
In your fear, you make a wrong turn at one of the streets and it leads you to a dead end. The wall at the end is too high to scale and there are no boxes or crates to climb either. 

You’ll have to make your stand here. A few moments later, two figures stop at the mouth of the alleyway, swaying slightly. You place the bottles of spirit on the ground, away from you.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing? Saw you leaving Diana’s, thought we might convince you to give us a little private time, sweetheart,” one of them slurs. 

“Don’t call me that,” you hiss. 

They laugh and begin walking towards you, forcing you to step back. You pull the dagger out, holding it firmly in your right hand.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you,” you yell, your voice tinged with hysteria. 

You feel the solid brick of the wall against your back and you hold the dagger out in front of you, eyes wide. But they don’t make it another step. A sword stabs through one of the men’s chest and completely lops the other’s head clean off. The bodies fall limply to the ground with a wet thud, revealing the swordsman. A cloaked man, the blood on his sword glistening in the remaining evening light.


	12. Rabbit Hole

You’re shaking and covered in blood. Something in the wind shifts as the man approaches you slowly, as if he doesn’t want to startle you. Too late. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says carefully. His voice is deep and sensuous, resonating in your chest, “What’s your name?” 

“Angel,” you whisper, forgetting your alias as horror grips you, as you realise how much blood is on you.  
It stains your hands the same way Yunho’s blood did so long ago. You fall on your knees and thoroughly empty your stomach onto the glistening stone street. The man kneels beside you, carefully avoiding the vomit and blood as best he can. He places a hand gently on your back, but you shrug away from him.  
“Who are you, anyway?” you ask after catching your breath. 

“My name… is Seonghwa,” he replies, watching you carefully. 

Your eyes widen; you stand up quickly and step back simultaneously, trying not to trip.

“Your Majesty,” you say, bowing breathlessly. 

“I’m just Seonghwa out here, I don’t want to draw attention,” he says quickly, trying to stop your show of deference. 

You glance up at him through the hood of your cloak, hands and legs still shaking.

“How many other people do you know with the name Seonghwa?” you ask quietly.

He tilts his head in amusement at your tone. 

“Where do you live? I can walk you home,” he says after a moment.

“I don’t think that’s really-”

“Appropriate? I’m the king, remember. I make the rules,” he says with a wink. 

You wince a little and give him a small smile that was more of a grimace. 

“I’m Madam Celene’s apprentice.” 

“Let’s go then. I’m sure she’s wondering where you’ve gotten to,” Seonghwa says. 

You nod and the two of you walk together in silence. Your stomach roils, and your head feels full of fog and cobwebs. It’s hard to believe the King of Aldsea is walking beside you as if he’s just an average person, the reality of it makes you breathless. Your body is heavy, like you’re walking through thick honey and every sound is dulled.  
One moment you’re walking down the street, Seonghwa saying something, the next moment your laying on the ground, and he’s kneeling by your head, eyes wide and lips moving quickly. You have no idea what he’s saying, and your vision begins to darken around the edges. Seconds later, unconsciousness drags you under and you know no more. 

*** 

“…So, I brought her here. It seemed like the best idea,” a male voice says, far away from you.

The familiar smells of the apothecary surround you. You open your eyes slowly and a groan slips from your lips as you try to sit up. 

“How are you feeling, Angel?” Celene asks, standing by the bed with a cool cloth in one hand.

“Uh.. All right, I think. How long was I out?”

“Two or so hours. His Majesty was kind enough you carry you here,” Celene replies, the corners of her mouth curving up slightly. 

Your eyes flick over to Seonghwa, who is leaning casually on the door frame, black cloak still draped over his shoulders, but his hood is down, letting you see his face properly. His black hair falls on his face messily, contrasting with his tan skin. You look away quickly as your eyes meet, a faint blush creeping up your neck. 

“Thanks for bringing me back, your majesty,” you mumble. 

“What were you doing in that part of town this late anyway?” He asks, a faint smirk on his lips. 

“Just doing some pick-ups for me,” Celene replies for you, “Which reminds me, you didn’t happen to pick up the bottles of spirit on your mad dash home?” 

“No, sorry. I didn’t have a chance to grab them between vomiting and fainting,” you snap.

“Oh, you can blame me for that,” Seonghwa chimes in, “I did dismember a couple of drunk ruffians in front of her, after all.” 

Celene’s murderous expression lightens a little.

“Well Angel, I think it’s time for you to get some more rest–”

“Do you mind giving us a moment?” Seonghwa interrupts.

Celene blinks in surprise. You didn’t think anyone had the audacity – the courage – to stand up to Celene, let alone brazenly tell her what to do. Then again, no one says no to a King; and even Celene must bend to his will. She just nods silently and leaves you alone. The temperature suddenly seems so much higher than it was a moment ago and the walls feel like they’re pushing in on you. 

Seonghwa notices your discomfort and a worried expression comes over his face. In a single movement, he kneels beside your bed and places a hand on your forehead, brow furrowed. 

“I think you have a fever. Your body temperature is much higher than it should be,” he says, concerned. 

You can’t do anything but stare at him, wide-eyed as he stands up again. If he’s even slightly aware of the effect he just had on you, he doesn’t show it. 

“The reason I asked Celene to gives us a moment is I wanted to ask you something,” he says, a little sheepishly, “I was wondering if you wanted to go on an afternoon stroll with me tomorrow? I knew if I asked while your mistress was around she’d have forbidden it. You don’t have to, of course.” 

_Was he babbling?_

“I would like that, actually,” you say after a moment of consideration. A walk in the fresh air would do you nothing but good after this fiasco.  
“That’s good,” he replies with a small huff of laughter, “I’ll be here sometime after lunch, if that’s okay?”  
“I’ll be ready.” 

Seonghwa gives you a smile and a wink, making you huff as he steps out the front door of the apothecary. He barely makes it past the threshold before Celene emerges and stands in the doorway, arms crossed.

“I know you heard everything,” you say as she opens her mouth, “And I know you’re probably going to try stop me from going but he’s the king, so good luck.”  
“I was just going to tell you to take tomorrow afternoon off, that’s all,” Celene says with a wry smile. 

*** 

The next morning you help Celene restock ingredients and serve the occasional customer. Nervousness builds in your stomach as the afternoon draws closer and every time the little bell above the shop door rings, your heart skips a beat. By the time you finish eating lunch, the feeling is unbearable and you’re beginning to consider making up some excuse and not going. 

“Wear this,” Celene says, dumping a wine-red dress on your bed. 

“It’s just a walk,” you say with a scowl at the dress. 

“Yes, a walk with the King. You might have charmed him, but that won’t last if you’re dressed like a peasant girl.”  
You pick the skirt up in your hand and can’t help but admire the fine tailorship of the fabric. The colour is a dark red with glittering gold embroidery, accented with pearl and ruby beads. 

“How on earth could you afford this?” You ask in awe.

“Angel, I think it’s best if that little snippet of information remain a secret, considering your company for this afternoon,” Celene replies, her tone warning you not to push the matter further, perhaps for both your sakes. 

“I can’t wear this, Celene,” you continue in protest.

“You can, and you will. I’ll certainly not have you botch this opportunity.” 

Ah. Finally, the reason Celene seems so invested in this meeting with the King. 

“I won’t hear any other words of protest. Start getting undressed – I’ll help you get this contraption on,” she continues. 

You do as she asks, removing the few layers of clothes you wear. Lormont rarely suffers weather that’s less than blinding sun so lots of clothing is uncomfortable, to say the least. Celene pulls out a corset and silences your protesting with a single glare. It’s been months since you last wore such a restriction and you certainly aren’t enthusiastic about wearing one again. 

She pulls it tight around your waist, tighter than Abigail ever did, causing your stomach to ache dully. She helps you step into the skirt and tie the cords of the bodice. By the end of it all, you feel like a trussed turkey, but the effect is stunning. You’ve gotten a little tan from living in Lormont, and the red of the dress contrasts beautifully with the glow of your skin. Celene hands you a beautiful silk hat, accented with red flowers and you place it lightly on your head. 

Just as you’re admiring yourself in a mirror, the bell at the front of the shop rings, startling you. Celene makes her way to greet whoever it was and you can hear their voices murmuring and blending together, making it difficult to understand what they’re saying. A moment later, Celene breezes back into the room, a self-satisfied smile on her face. 

“The king didn’t come himself, but he sent a carriage to escort you to the palace,” she says casually. 

You choke on a laugh.  
“You can’t be serious?” 

“Deadly. Come on, it’s not like you’ve never done this before. Need I remind you of where you come from?”

“I remember perfectly, thank you,” you reply, amusement gone. 

“Go, then. Stop standing around like a fool,” Celene croons, “And stop scowling. You look atrocious.” 

Giving Celene a withering glare in parting, you step out into the front of the shop where the carriage driver is waiting.  
“Miss,” he says in greeting, giving you a small bow, “If you’ll please follow me.” 

Celene shoves a small, white parasol in your hand as you step out the door and waves goodbye, a smug smile on her face the whole time. 

The carriage is glorious, more lavish and luxurious than anything you’d seen as a lady. The city passes by in a blur of bright colours. Some people point and stare in awe at the carriage as it passes by. Once the carriage makes it into the richer part of the city, the crowds have decreased in size and there is hardly a noise above the clacking of horse hooves on the stone pavement and the rattle of carriage wheels. 

A few minutes later the carriage passes through the wrought iron gates and onto the palace grounds. The palace is huge, with spires and towers pointing into the sky like spears. It’s beautiful to look at, as if it came straight out of a fairytale. The carriage pulls to a stop at one of the side entrances. Anyone who sees you will just think you’re some courtier. You step out of the carriage, hat pulled down and parasol opened to hide your face as much as possible. 

Several courtiers have stopped their leisurely strolls through the palace grounds to watch you; trying to determine who you are, and why you’ve been invited to the palace. You notice two beautiful women in equally stunning gowns whispering to each other and casting glances over at you. You can’t help but wonder why the king wants to see you of all people when he could have the pick of any number of these women. Then again, maybe he has had these women and wants something new. The thought doesn’t sit well.  
You follow a well-dressed servant woman through the opulent hallways, going passed many closed doors on your way. You get the feeling that it would be quite easy to get lost for days here. After what feels like an eternity of wandering, the servant comes to a stop outside a set of double oak doors. Your chest tightens suddenly at the realisation of who is behind those doors. 

The servant knocks lightly on the door and they swing open at the same time. 

“Miss Angel, to see His Majesty, King Seonghwa of Lormont, ruler of Aldsea,” someone announces. 

The words set your feet in motion, propelling you forward. The room is set up as an office; a large, mahogany desk sits in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. An open fireplace is on the opposite wall with armchairs placed in a semi-circle in front of it. The king is standing by the window, looking out upon the vast land his palace is sprawled on, a hand in his pant pocket. He turns around, sunlight beaming down on him like a halo. 

You drop into a low curtsy, and while you’re a little rusty, it’s elegant and graceful none the less. At least you were announced as ‘miss’ and not ‘lady.’ The double doors close with a click behind you, and you stand up in surprise. 

“Don’t mind them, I just thought you’d be more comfortable if it was just the two of us,” Seonghwa says in greeting, “Was the journey here comfortable?” 

“Yes, it was quite lovely,” you reply a little awkwardly. You’re not sure whether you should talk to the king as if he’s an acquaintance or with deference. 

“Let’s talk as though we’re friends, Angel. I find your company to be refreshing and I don’t want that to be ruined by our social differences,” Seonghwa continues, as if he read your hesitation, “Come, the sun is beautiful today and I have a proposition I’d like to discuss with you. One I think you’ll find most interesting.” 

He places your hand in the crook of his elbow and the two of you begin making your way to the gardens. 

**[A/N]**  
**It's been a while since I updated because we ran out of internet! That's rural Australia for you. Anyway, I have a few chapters waiting to be published but I'm not going to do them all at once so you'll have a to wait sorry :)** **P.S If you like the story please don't forget to give it kudos! It's an easy way to help me out as a writer and it always makes my day :)**


	13. Omens

“That colour, the red, suits you beautifully,” Seonghwa says once you reach the gardens.

You’re strolling casually on a gravel path that weaves through the carefully manicured hedges and lawns. There are blooming rose bushes on the sides of the path, filling the air with their suffocating sweet scent.

“I prefer green, to be honest,” you reply with a small smile, “Not bright green, but more of an emerald green.”

“Emerald is a lovely colour. The colour of new life, of spring and living things,” Seonghwa muses, “I think any colour would look splendid on you.”

You walk a little closer to him at those words, earning subtle glares from several ladies who were also walking around the grounds. Seonghwa didn’t even acknowledge them, keeping his eyes focused before him.

“So, what’s this interesting proposition you have for me?” You ask casually.

“Will you join me for dinner?” Seonghwa asks suddenly.

You look at him in surprise.

“Was that your proposition?”

“No, the thought just popped into my head,” he replies bashfully.

“Madam Celene will be expecting me back in a few hours, I don’t think-” 

“I’m the king, remember?” Seonghwa smiles, though his tone seems strangely threatening.

“I… I think dinner would be lovely,” you say, reeling somewhat from the King’s sudden change in demeanour. 

“Fantastic. I’ll tell you my request later, then.”

Despite the strange atmosphere, the idea of eating with the king sends shivers of excitement down your spine. There’s no denying he’s handsome and incredibly charming, and there’s something else about him that makes you want to trust him. No wonder the courtiers around here are green as the grass they walk on when the pair of you stroll past.

“Tell me more about yourself.”

“Ah… there’s not really much to know,” you say carefully.

“Well why did you come to Lormont, for starters?”

His curiosity doesn’t seem like anything else, and while you want desperately to tell him everything you’ve gone through the last few months, the voice of reason cuts though your thoughts, reminding you why, exactly, you’re on the run.

“I wanted a new start. Where I used to be, it wasn’t safe for me, or the people I was with,” you reply.

“Sounds exhausting,” Seonghwa says, true sympathy in his voice.

“I don’t want or need your pity,” you snap, stopping suddenly.

“I’m sorry if I caused offense,” Seonghwa says, brows furrowed in confusion, “I was simply trying to say… well I guess what I mean is if you need someone to talk to other than your mistress, I’d be happy to listen.”

You watch him carefully, taking in the planes of his face, the high cheekbones and sharp jawline, the curve of his lips. His eyes are soft, full of kindness and true concern for you. He gently places a hand on your cheek and the world seems to melt away; it might as well be only the two of you in these gardens.

Your breathing hitches as he tilts his head, eyes fixed on your lips. His hand slips under your chin, and he gently tilts it up, bringing his face closer to yours, but he stops, mere centimetres away. 

“You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now,” he murmurs, hardly louder than a soft breeze.

“So why aren’t you?” you reply, equally as quiet.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, making your heart stop, then start, then stop again. 

“Why rush things?” he says, the corners of his mouth flicking up in an infernally self-assured smirk.

He pulls back, hand falling from your chin to rest casually by his side. Red hot flames crawl up your neck and face, and you’re grateful to Celene for giving you the hat and parasol as you duck your head to hide your mortification.

“Shall we head back?” You can hear the amusement in the King’s voice, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s likely ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Yes, let’s,” you say in response.

The pair of you walk back to the palace in silence. Seonghwa offers his arm to you on the way, but you pretend not to notice it and keep your hand firmly at your side.

***

You reach the entrance to the palace, where a handful of maids are waiting.

“This is where I must leave you. It will be sometime before dinner is ready, so take a little while to relax. I’ll see you later,” Seonghwa says, as he turns and disappears down one of the hallways, not looking back once. 

You can’t help staring after him, slack-jawed. The little stunt he pulled in the gardens left you… muddled, confused. His sudden absence leaves you feeling cold, even stupidly sad that he’s gone. Even worse, a few of the maids watch you with pity written on their faces.

“If you’ll please follow us, miss,” one of them says finally.

“Where to, exactly?” You reply stiffly.

“A bit of pampering you might say. You’re to dine with the king tonight. We can’t have you going looking like… that.”

You frown at her implication. You thought you looked quite nice in the borrowed gown.

You follow the cabal of maids to a large, communal bathing chamber. They lead you off to one of the private rooms where you’re instructed to take off your outer garments. After a minute of fruitless argument, you comply, one of the younger women helping you remove some of the more complicated items.

“Please sit down here,” an older woman says in a monotone voice, as if she’s done this several times and is bored by the monotony of the task. She’s gesturing to some kind of padded, reclined chair.

You sit on the recliner in naught but your underclothes, wondering what the hell was going to happen next, when several of the maids surround you and set to work, cutting and styling your hair, trimming and shaping your nails and ruthlessly ripping the stubbly hair from your legs and arms with some kind of sticky substance.

You manage not to cry out, but the pain makes your eyes water at times, especially when the woman moves on to removing hair from more _sensitive_ areas. Later, the maids take you to another room where they dunk you in steamy water and scrub your from head to toe until you turn red as a lobster and your skin hurts so badly it’s as if they scrubbed off the top layer entirely. After nearly an hour and a half of this so-called ‘pampering’, you feel like a plucked turkey, trussed and prettied up for a feast.

You’re sitting in a dressing room, a fluffy bathrobe tied loosely around your waist. A maid is gently applying soft powders and creams to your face, while another fiddles with your hair.

“Surely you’re done by now?” You ask in frustration.

“Madam Nestre demands perfection. We’ll be done when we’re done,” says one of the girls, in the same monotone voice they all spoke in, “Please come over here. It’s time for you to get dressed.”

When you see the dress in question, you can’t help but gasp in awe. It’s a stunning, emerald green gown, accented with gold threading, pearl and emerald stone beading and fine silver embroidery. The gown you borrowed from Celene certainly can’t hold a candle to this dress.

“First things first, your corset miss.”

At this point, you’re too tired to protest.

***

The maids leave you to yourself in a lavish sitting room, promising the king would send for you shortly. There is plenty of chairs scattered throughout the room, with bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. You sit by the massive window that dominates the far wall, watching the evening sun drift ever so slowly towards the horizon.

The city lights reach out to you, glittering like stars in the dwindling light. You start to wonder if the king might be playing some kind of stupid game, making you wait an obscene amount of time just to prove he could. Your frustration quickly turns to anger at the thought and you’re about to leave the sitting room and demand answers when you hear two female voices chittering outside the door.

“You know the king’s brought in some new girl, a peasant at that.”

“Certainly not? I can’t imagine even his majesty being that desperate.”

“Well, you know his habits. I can’t help feeling a little sorry for the poor thing. You know he’ll just chew her up and spit her back out like he’s done with all the others.”

The women continue talking, but they move down the hall and you can no longer hear them. Your head is reeling from the tidbits of information you over-heard and pieces of the puzzle are starting to click into place. You take several slow breaths to calm yourself, to quell the sick feeling in your stomach.

A sharp knock and the door opening brings you swiftly back to reality. A young page boy is standing in the doorway.

“Miss, please follow me. You’ve been summoned by his majesty.”

You nod absently and follow the page without a word. He leads you through many winding hallways and corridors, so many that you feel disoriented. The page finally stops in front of a set of grand double doors, identical to the ones you saw earlier in the day. They swing open silently and you step into the room beyond, doors clicking shut behind you. There is no one to announce you this time, only silence.

The room is barely lit, aside from a few scattered candles providing illumination. There is a table set up in the middle of the room, laden with all sorts of delicious smelling food. The king is already sitting, a glass of wine resting on the table and his chin propped up by his hand. His dark eyes are piercing in the dim light, causing your heart to jump.

“Angel, I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost,” he says by way of greeting, voice low.

“I think the page boy might have taken the long route here,” you say lightly; a poor attempt at concealing your nerves.

“Please, have a seat. I started on the wine without you, I hope you don’t mind.”

You take the seat across the table from him, awkwardly clearing your throat. If only he’d stop _looking_ at you like that.

“Help yourself to any of the food,” he says, piling his plate up, “I suppose we should talk about the matter at hand.”

You nod and mummer agreement as you put food on your plate from the selection of tantalising dishes arrayed on the table.

“I want you to work for me,” Seonghwa says with a devilish smile.

**[A/N]**  
**Sorry for not updating in forever, I've been really going through it the past couple of weeks, I feel like my anxiety and depression is getting worse, which is not a vibe! And quarantine is not helping. Anyway, I'm going to try to write more and update a little more regularly but I guess we'll see** **Please remember to give kudos if you're enjoying the book, it makes my day and also lets me know there are people who want to keep reading what I'm putting out, thanks so much :)**


	14. Sweet As Poison

You cough on a mouthful of wine and wince at the strange bitterness of it as his words sink in.

"Sorry, what?" you splutter.

Seonghwa laughs quietly at your reaction and seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself at your expense.

"I want you to work for me, as the court healer. You've been training with Madam Celene for over two months now," he replies.

"I'm far from having enough experience to become the court healer," you protest, "I'm honoured you asked but I can't, in good conscience, accept."

Seonghwa smiles gently.

"Think about it before giving me an absolute answer. Talk it out with your mistress as well if it allays your fears. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't think you could handle it," he says softly.

You take a large mouthful of wine. Today was certainly turning out to be strange.

"Was that all you wanted to ask me tonight?" You ask, after a long pause.

Seonghwa watches you, some unreadable expression on his face.

"I think you're beautiful," he says at last.

You can't hide the shock on your face.

"That's... I..." You stammer, unsure how to answer him and suddenly finding the food on your plate very interesting.

"Surely you're aware of the fact? I can imagine you'd have a line of suitors out the door of the apothecary of yours telling you daily of your ethereal magnificence," Seonghwa continues casually.

"First of all, no, I don't have a line of suitors out the door and secondly, it's not that I think I'm unpleasing to the eyes, it's rather that I don't see myself as particularly remarkable either."

"Remarkable is a light way of putting it," Seonghwa murmurs.

The compliment isn't quite as shocking the second time, but it still makes you laugh a little and blush lightly.

"Don't get too lavish with your flattery, or I might begin to think it's insincere," you smile.

"I always mean what I say, case in point; I meant it when I said I wanted you to come work for me. I know you think 2 months isn't enough experience to be a court healer, but you can learn on the job, not to mention the salary is quite comfortable; paid directly out of the royal coffers," Seonghwa says, "Just promise me you'll think about it."

"You're clever, ploying me with a private dinner and fine wine," you say carefully.

Seonghwa just watches you, his gaze heavy yet unreadable as always.

"Fine, I'll think it over. I can't promise anything though so don't get your hopes up," you huff after a moment of silence.

From Seonghwa's beaming smile, one might think you'd already agreed. A dull thud begins to form at the base of your skull as a headache sets in. You've had too much wine, but it's not like you can excuse yourself from the King's table. Your promise to think about Seonghwa's offer seems to have made him particularly talkative and he doesn't notice how little you chime in on the conversation, looking content to do all the talking.

What feels like hours later, and after your headache has devolved into a steady and rhythmic pounding, Seonghwa finally calls for the plates to be cleared away. He stands and offers an arm, most likely wanting to escort you back to your rooms but as you stand, your vision goes black, and the next think you know, you're lying on the ground, Seonghwa leaning over you, his eyes wide.

"Hey, are you okay?" His voice tinged with concern

"Uh... I don't..." you groan, hardly able to form coherent thoughts through the pain of your headache, "I don't think I can stand."

"Not to worry, fair maiden," Seonghwa says, and you might have laughed at his words if laughing didn't make your head feel like it was going to explode. In one fluid movement, Seonghwa scoops you up in his arms and carries you out of the dinning room, to the utter horror of the attending servants. Moments later, he's placing you gently down on a soft, comfortable surface and speaking in a low tone to the servant girls.

Strangely, you can't move your arms or legs; it's as if there are lumps of granite in place of your limbs and the world is beginning to grow fuzzy around the edges. The King's face appears once again in your vision, his brow furrowed in concern. You feel your eyelids grow heavy, but moments before you lose consciousness, you realise why the wine had tasted so strange.

***  
 _You're sitting around a campfire; one that feels familiar and safe. You can feel someone sitting next to your, the warmth of their body seeping into you, calming you. You turn your head to see who it is and you realise it's Mingi, his arm slung casually around your shoulders. You look back around the fire and see all of your friends, smiling and laughing, their faces glowing in the light of the fire._

_Yunho hands you a plate of food, which strikes you as odd for some reason, but just as you take the plate in your hands, an arrow whistles through the air and punctures through Yunho's throat, his body falling dully to the ground. You leap from your seat, reaching for a weapon and your eyes meet Yeosang's across the fire, just as the tip of a sword bursts through his chest. His eyes flare with pain as he falls to the ground._

_You try to reach for a weapon, but your movements are comically slow, like your limbs refuse to do as they're told. You look around at your friends who are trying to fight back with the mysterious attackers but each fall, one by one. Mingi lays at your feet, white foam around his mouth, as if he was poisoned, Jongho is struggling on his knees as someone tightens a cord around his neck. San and Wooyoung... they stand back to back, jaws locked and eyes fiery as they try to fend off three or four of the attackers. And Hongjoong... Hongjoong lays a little ways away from you, curled in on himself and clutching a wound to his gut, and coughing up blood._

_One of the mystery killers stands in front of you, raising their swords, readying themselves to kill you but you throw the dagger that appears in your hand, the blade sinking expertly into their throat. You rush over to the body and rip the hood from their face, hoping to identify at least one of the killers, only to be met with your own face staring up at you, a grotesque smile plastered on her mouth._

_Your friend's bodies lay around you, blood soaking their clothes. You look to the left and see a white light flickering in between the trees, and a voice, calling out your name. The voice is familiar, friendly, safe. You set out at run, following the voice and trying to reach the light. There's a figure, standing not to far ahead and as you get closer, you realise it's Seonghwa. He's here to save you. A sob breaks from your chest as you reach out to him, but the moment your fingers touch him, his visage disappears into fog, leaving only the echo of cruel laughter._

***  
You jolt awake and sit up, the sounds of laughter still ringing in your ears. You take a deep breath and look at your surroundings, realising you're in a lavishly decorated bedroom, the King sleeping with his head on his fist in a chair across from you, looking visibly harrowed. Had he been there all night? You sink back down onto the pillow, your thoughts wandering back to the nightmare. It's been a long time since you'd dreamt of something so horrific, and you can't help but wonder what triggered it.

The previous night's events were somewhat murky. You look back over at the sleeping King, suspicion creeping to the forefront of your mind. Absurd as it is, you just can't shake the feeling that something about him is off. You never thought to ask why he was out the night he saved you from those two drunks. And there are other things too, like his sudden and jarring mood swings that leave you muddled and confused.

He's a king, and one accustomed to getting what he wants. You've been careless; all it took for you to let down your guard was a pretty face and honeyed words. Getting close to the King is getting too close to who you used to be; who you're still trying to escape. Dining with him had been a mistake, one that you could now see clearer than the sun shining outside. You throw off the covers and slide out of the bed. The noise wakes Seonghwa, his eyes immediately searching you, making sure you're okay. He looks up at you and quickly takes note of your expression. Or perhaps lack thereof. He sits up straighter, concern furrowing his brow. It seems so sincere that a small seed of doubt sets in.

"Is everything okay, y/n? You look upset," he says, voice gentle, like he's trying to calm a spooked doe.

You're resolve almost completely crumbles at that, but stubbornness takes over.

"I want to go home."

"I- I understand," is all he says, "I'll call a maid to run a bath and help you get prepared."

"No, I want to go now," you say, voice wobbling as tears fill your eyes. You think if you stay a moment longer you might very well lose your mind completely. The nightmare you had defiantly had more of an effect on you than you thought and dealing with Seonghwa right now was making it worse.

"Okay, okay, just... tell me what to do, tell me how I can help," he says; he runs a hand through his hair, a sure sign that he's getting more worried by the moment.

"Go... just get out," you say, voice rising and tears sliding down your face.

Seonghwa looks like he's about to argue but nods and makes his way out of the room. A moment later, a servant girl walks in and gently takes your hand in hers.

"Is everything alright, miss?" She asks.

"It will be, as soon as I can go home," you sniffle.

The servant girl helps you to put on the dress borrowed from Celene and she dabs some tinted creams around your eyes to disguise the redness. A few minutes later, you're escorted to the same carriage that brought you from the apothecary. Finally, out in the open air you can think again. Seonghwa is no where in sight, perhaps believing his presence would just upset you further. He wouldn't exactly be wrong. You step into the carriage and settle into the plush seat, pulling down the curtains so you wouldn't have to see look out and see the castle, growing ever smaller behind you.


End file.
